You see what I mean about there being no hope for Moogie's hair? This was pre-restoration of the AC.
So. As we await the refrigerator repair guy (yep, the ice chute cover keeps opening and closing all by itself, and the control panel keeps flashing -- the fridge either blew a circuit somewhere during all the plugging and unplugging for generator respites, or it needs an exorcism. Or both.), and the roofers (who arrived yesterday to replace the fallen chimney cap and discovered enough shingle damage to require a big blue tarp), and the insurance adjusters who will tell us that the repair costs don't quite meet the deductible, we come to that annual contemplation of Labor Day. And the Second Annual re-telling of What Labor Day means to Moogie (and, I imagine, to Elder Daughter, the new Mommy):
Monday, September 6, 2010
What Labor Day Means to Moogie
As I prepare to bake an apple-blueberry pie to take to a
potluck this afternoon, my thoughts drift to the true meaning of today's revered
holiday observation.
Labor Day -- the day we recognize and acknowledge all those hours spent in a hospital gown that exposes our backside to the world, hee-hee-heeing and blowing, then straining to push a human being out of our bodies and into this world. (Often described by male physicians as "experiencing some discomfort.")
What's that you say? Union labor?!?!
Oh.
In that case, contact your senator and congressperson today -- and tomorrow -- and explain just exactly why the Employee Free Choice Act is no more than a communist mechanism to screw the rank-and-file employee and the employer simultaneously, and a device to take contractual bargaining out of the hands of the real parties in interest and hand it over to not-totally-disinterested third parties, among other unpleasant things.
In the meantime, go have a picnic -- and call your mother.
Labor Day -- the day we recognize and acknowledge all those hours spent in a hospital gown that exposes our backside to the world, hee-hee-heeing and blowing, then straining to push a human being out of our bodies and into this world. (Often described by male physicians as "experiencing some discomfort.")
What's that you say? Union labor?!?!
Oh.
In that case, contact your senator and congressperson today -- and tomorrow -- and explain just exactly why the Employee Free Choice Act is no more than a communist mechanism to screw the rank-and-file employee and the employer simultaneously, and a device to take contractual bargaining out of the hands of the real parties in interest and hand it over to not-totally-disinterested third parties, among other unpleasant things.
In the meantime, go have a picnic -- and call your mother.
Moogie, I for one think the photo of your hair, sittin' on the front porch is just HOT.
ReplyDeleteI mean...really. (I hope Pepper don't read this).
One thing that a bad storms reminds us of is that bad storms suck!
And...it also reminds us that a lot of really great, hard-working people give their all on their jobs...for the well-being of their families...for their neighbors, etc.
Punched the clock today on Labor Day myself. Didn't mind it one bit. Grateful for work that I love.
And, other junk (most especially that photo of you on the porch...man...I hope Pepper don't read your comments...or Pam...) Nyuk...
Get inside and STAY inside! Sorry to hear about the roof. Oh my! Anyway, Happy Labor Day.
ReplyDeleteAndy, I look hot because it was blast furnace hot!!!
ReplyDeleteI plan to do just that, RC! I'm just glad the roof wasn't worse. Cheers!
Heh!
ReplyDeleteYou see what I mean about there being no hope for Moogie's hair?
ReplyDeleteHow about "change?" Is there change for Moogie's hair?
That really sucks about the deductible. The insurance folks get ya, one way or t'other.